One and the Same
by OnlyFunOnFridays
Summary: Scorpius never expected that, upon coming out, he would learn that there had been another Malfoy man who did not prefer women. Through the memories of his family, he learns the truth about the Malfoy's youths. Multigen.
1. Chapter 1

A direct male line often passes along more traits than it allows to fall to the wayside. A particular shade of blond hair. A laugh that booms from the belly, if and when it is let free. A last name, feared.

The Malfoy line began with Bouvier Malfoi. A Frenchman turned English lord, Bouvier was known for his wealth, his charm, and his vicious persecution of those he felt were _inférieur. _It is believed that Lord Malfoi was responsible in part for a number of Edward I's leaves of absence from the country. He was a man best avoided.

Over three hundred years later, Abraxas Malfoy was the head of Bouvier's dynasty. He fathered two sons who, in turn, fathered one son each. The Malfoys were going strong. Their bloodline was pure, their pockets deep.

Then, Scorpius Malfoy was born. The traits of the line were in his corner, taking back room bets that he would be the next Abraxas – a man of unimaginable power in wizarding Britain and the world, respected and feared by all men. Their hopes were dashed when, at fifteen, Scorpius stood up at the dinner table to make an announcement.

"Mum, Dad," said Scorpius, his voice firm. The knife he had used to lightly strike his crystal water glass was still clenched in his fist, its silver surface glimmering in the light of a chandelier ten meters above. "Uncle Blaise and Auntie Daphne. Grandma, Grandpa."

As each name left his lips, he took one last look at the face it belonged to, memorizing the expressions. There was no telling what the slightly interested quirk of his mother Astoria's lips would become, a smile or a snarl. He did not want to consider how his grandfather Lucius would take his news, and pressed on to avoid reconsidering.

"I've thought about this a good deal, which may account for the drop in my grades you've all commented on tonight. Just kidding, Dad. It was Flitwick, he seems to think that I'm incapable of casting any – excuse me. As I was saying, I want you all to know that I'm... Well, I think I'm... I'm gay."

The square of lamb he had been chewing fell from Lucius's mouth. He did not move to pick it up, letting it sit on the expensive tablecloth. His eyes bulged, trained on his only grandson.

"What?" said Draco.

Scorpius looked down at the rich green linens. "As in, I may in fact like men."

"Oh," said Astoria.

Her slim hands sat folded on the table, their red nails digging into her flesh. With a great scraping noise, her sister Daphne rose from her heavy oaken chair. Blonde hair swinging to curtain her face, she bent and whispered to Blaise, "Try and say something intelligent when we go."

By the time Blaise was trying to clarify exactly who 'we' was, Daphne had bounded over to the far end of the table and whisked Scorpius from the room. Blaise peered around at his best mate's family, and the only thing he could think to say was, "At least he's not a father. We'd have to find another chair for the table."

.

The voice of her husband echoed dimly off of the walls in the manor's entryway, and Daphne couldn't help but roll her eyes. However, she was having an equally difficult time with finding something appropriate to say. She contented herself with a rather weak sounding, "That didn't go as well as you planned, did it?"

"Better, actually," answered Scorpius. "I was expecting to be thrown from the grounds in a parade of my cursed belongings."

Daphne was at loss for an answer. As much as she would have liked to say that Scorpius was being melodramatic, his prediction was just as plausible as stunned acceptance. The Malfoys were a tempestuous lot. "You'll just have to give them a while to digest the news, I suppose. They haven't dealt with anything like this ever before."

"Not entirely true."

Mouth open to speak, Scorpius was surprised when the unfamiliar voice rang through the hallway, sounding like no one in attendance that night. Turning slowly, he found himself face-to-face with the feline features of Permelia Malfoy.

His great-grandmother stared down upon the two of them, her kin and his aunt, a knowing smirk crinkling her dark eyes. She seemed to be the only portrait aware of their presence in the long hall; Abraxas Malfoy and his war decorations slumbered heavily a short stretch down the filigreed wall.

Scorpius was first to speak, incredulity evident in his voice.

"What? You can't be saying..."

"That you are _not _the first son of the Malfoys to find himself in this position?" said Permelia, a smile slowly catching at her lips. "I hate to tell you this, but you're not as unique as your – aunt, is it? – your aunt seems to think."

"That's all well and good," said Daphne, "But that little tidbit does nothing for us without a name and date attached, does it?"

"Who exactly are you under the impression you are speaking to?" asked Permelia. The cold glitter in her eyes seemed too accurate to be an effect of the oils she was painted in. Scorpius could recall seeing the same gleam in his grandfather's eyes all too many times; it was a look that meant you should stop talking immediately, if not sooner, if you wanted to continue living. "You may be invited to eat dinner with my family, but you are in no way entitled to know our secrets. If Scorpius wants to know which of his relatives I was speaking of, he should ask, _not_ you."

The door at the end of the hall smashed against the wall with a deafening bang. Draco, the picture of rage, came pounding towards them, Astoria flitting beside him, hanging on his arm, Blaise trying to talk him down from his tirade.

A feverish intensity in his whisper, Scorpius asked Permelia, "Who was it?"

As his father came within arms reach, Permelia fluttered her painted eyelashes and cooed, "I'm not at liberty to say."

.

Forty minutes later, the sitting room was full of adults with strong, expensive drinks and irritated countenances. Scorpius hadn't been seen since Draco began yelling in the hall.

He was still yelling.

"Daphne, he's not your son!"

Face blank, curled up on a fainting couch, Daphne did not respond.

"I know you think he is, but he's not. He's mine and I love him, even if he goes and... and..."

"Sleeps with men?" suggested Blaise.

"You're not involved in this!" roared Draco. "So sod off, would you? Just bloody piss off."

"He was just trying to help," said Astoria. She crossed in front of the crackling fireplace and hovered by, unsure what to do with herself. "And he's just a kid. This might be just a phase."

Draco put his face in his hands. The tint in his cheeks and nose was suggesting that tears were not far off. "And if it's not?"

Astoria took his hands in hers, touched their foreheads together. "I don't know."

That night, Scorpius was not in bed. He slept curled amongst old wizarding journals, staring at a closed up wardrobe even in his dreams. There was a Penseive inside. All of the memories of his family from the eighteen hundreds on sat in neatly labeled bottles on the wardrobes shelves.

Did he really want to find out who was like him?


	2. Chapter 2

Maximilien Malfoy took a special sort of pleasure in tormenting his older brother. The ease of making him squirm – figuratively – was fun in and of itself, but the best part was getting Lucius to throw aside the way he acted around people outside of their family. He was always so regal, as if he expected them to genuflect every time he passed by. Yes, the Malfoys were a respected wizarding family, and yes, Max would admit to using their reputation to his advantage at times. Lucius, however, took the royal act a step too far. Exhibit A, B, and C: Narcissa Black.

"Good morning, Narcissa," said Max, sliding in next to the slip of a blonde at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. She barely looked up from her toast. "Well aren't we friendly this morning! May I offer you a glass of _jus d'orange_?"

"Leave, Maximilien," growled Lucius. The apple the older boy had been examining bore the brunt of his annoyance. It gave way beneath his fingernails, the sharp edges leaving pale crescents in the fruit's ruby skin.

Max splayed across the table, one of his elbows dangerously close to dipping into the jam jar. Lucius leaned backwards to be sure he was out of reach of Max's reaching fingers. A delicate sneer revealed his perfect, white teeth, crinkling the smooth skin above his thick blond eyebrows.

"I am your brother, Luci," said Max. "You don't need to hide your affection beneath this cold exterior."

"You have all of a moment, Maximilien, before I curse you into a pile of ashes."

"Using my given name is just another sign that you feel uncomfortable with me. Is it because I was kissing Margie Abend in the common room yesterday? If you want me to stop with all of the girls, you just have to say so. I wouldn't want to make you look bad in comparison."

The tiniest of giggles escaped from the girl to his left. Lucius looked murderous. Max was victorious, but he couldn't bear to leave it at that.

As he got up from the table, bacon in hand, Max pressed his lips to Narcissa's forehead, smoothing aside her side swept fringe. A minuscule flicker of a heartbeat pulsed in her temple. Another jolt of satisfaction coursed through him as Max felt it speed up in the second or so he spent kissing her. Who said older girls were off limits? Tosh. With a little hard work and a lot of French sprinkled in one's speech, even an older brother's girlfriend could be won over.

"_Au revoir_, my fair lady," said Max. He walked backwards down the aisle, bowing as he went and yelling to be heard over the din of breakfast. "Until we meet again, you'll have to be content with the other Malfoy."

He spun on his heel, walking towards the exit with the bounce of an accomplished youth and an excellent piece of bacon.

.

Scorpius could not believe what he had just witnessed. It must have been a waking dream, or some wonderful kind of hallucination. Laying flat on his back on the floor of the attic, Scorpius took stock of his surroundings. The morning sun streaming in through the owl holes was real, there was no doubt about that. The books and various antiques occupying the the attic were real, too; he could see and feel and touch them. Smell them, too, were he to put his nose to the dusty surfaces.

But the scene that had played out within the shining silver pool of the Penseive had been starkly unimagined, and, the oddest part was, the protagonist was dead. Long dead. Scorpius had never met his Great-Uncle Max, but there he had been, kissing Scorpius's grandmother as his grandfather looked on.

And what a grandfather he had been. Lucius had been a teenager in the memory, not the almost seventy-year old that Scorpius knew. And he had been _handsome_. A long, blond ponytail had sat primly upon the teenager's collar tough Scorpius had seen nothing of Lucius's corn-silk hair but a sleek, refined crop fitting for a man of power. The change of hair and numerous other details had had a profound effect on Lucius, making him a completely unrecognizable presence.

Even so, some things remained eerily similar. Should he opt for the right potion, Lucius could recapture his haughty, youthful self. Narcissa had smiled the same way she always did when she was trying not to – slightly annoyed at her own amusement, attempting to repress the curl of her rosebud lips. The expression had just been on a sixteen-year old face rather than one of sixty-six years.

The memory had been inconsequential, the experience exhilarating. He could find out anything about his family, so fond of keeping the past quiet, without having to deal with fussy portraits or crotchety grandparents.

It would be brilliant.

.

Daphne and Blaise were not present when Scorpius was dragged to lunch by a skittish house elf. That left him with no one to talk to, no one to share his discoveries with. He didn't mind, though. The temptress that was knowledge had overtaken him, drawing his eyes where she willed. The memories he had watched had revealed nothing life changing, yet the way he looked at his family was markedly different.

Lucius was no longer the man who sat sullenly at family gatherings, looking as though he wanted to up and leave, leave to return to a better time when he was without ties to anyone. He was a confident, arrogant teenager with a lot to prove and a girl to win. That girl was Narcissa, and she had been breathtakingly, effortlessly beautiful in another life - the kind of girl that Dominique Weasley had been when she still attended Hogwarts - not the doting, overprotective grandmother he loved.

His mother hadn't yet pooled her memories, so what he knew of her came from a few brief glimpses from his father's memories of school. Those were the hardest to watch, the memories belonging to Draco. His father had been horrible to most of his schoolmates, but the worst to see were his attacks against the famous Harry Potter and the Weasley family. Scorpius searched his father's face, looking for traces of the cocky boy who had gotten himself turned into a ferret.

He could do all that, find the scars and lines on the once youthful faces, because no one looked at him, not even a quick glance, save a house elf, through the whole three course lunch.

His orientation was becoming more of a problem with each passing minute, and with each minute one thing became more and more clear. He would have to go through each and every memory until he found the other gay Malfoy and discovered why no one talked about him. Why no one had even mentioned him when history had begun to repeat.

That one day his closest relatives might not mention his name was the thought that drove Scorpius back to the attic, where the past was waiting within its dusty bottles.

**There was no disclaimer on the first chapter, so here it is: Any recognizable characters or situations belong to Jo Rowling, bless her heart. Without her, these little blond playthings would be figments of an imagination somewhere, rather than figments of all our imaginations here.**


	3. Chapter 3

Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini sat motionless in the darkened Slytherin common room, silent save their slow breathing. A boy who appeared to have been stretched was sunken deep into an armchair, barely visible within the velvet upholstery. The light from a struggling fire, suffocating in the dank room, glinted on the silvery strands of Draco's hair. The orange light left strange, wild designs on Blaise's dark skin, cutting black holes where his eyes should have been. Screams came muffled through the thick door to the first year dorm, increasing in intensity before lulling back into silence. It was unclear whether they were of joy or of terror.

"You fixed it," said Blaise. His voice was flat. He stared into the spluttering flames as though he had been speaking to himself, not expecting an answer.

"Don't sound so excited," said the other boy. "Someone might think you supported your friends. Wouldn't want that, would we, Zabini?"

"Don't be an idiot," answered Blaise. "You don't know what this means for us, all of us here, Nott, and you won't until you extract your cortex from your sphincter."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"The arrival of a pack of Death Eaters might not be the best thing for you if you're planning on living to lose your eternal innocence."

"Shut your mouth, Zabini," snapped Nott. His lean face flushed, the patches of visible skin turning an exaggerated scarlet in the firelight. "We can't all have our own little slag to shag whenever we feel like it. Isn't that right, Malfoy?"

It was Draco's turn to go pink. Clearing his throat loudly, he returned to the previous subject, a nasty tinge smoldering beneath his smooth drawl. "When the Azkaban breakout was in the news, I seem to have missed your father's name on the list of those freed. The Dark Lord has expressed no interest in your family or in you for years. If they come from the wardrobe, Theo, you will be just another screaming student in their eyes. My personal fondness of you in no way affects the opinions of the Death Eaters as a whole."

"In other words," said Blaise. "You're fucked."

"And you?" said Theodore. "You and your mother aren't Death Eaters either!"

"But I, unlike you, am not an idiot, or a naive virgin who is incapable of looking beyond his own ego."

"I'm not a virgin," said Theo, an inexplicable smile leaving its ghost on his features. "Right, Draco?"

Rather than answer, Draco stood and pointed his wand at the spitting, failing fire.

"Nox."

.

As the present spun before Scorpius, its filtered afternoon sunlight slowly replacing the inky darkness of the memory, a possible piece of the puzzle that was the Malfoys slotted into place. Could he have wandered to exactly the memory he needed? A sense of discovery clouded his mind and filled all of his senses.

The sharp bite of reality returned to him instantaneously when a rough hand covered his eyes.

"Guess who."

The voice, smooth as though it had recently been polished, came from mere centimeters behind Scorpius's ear. Slowly, Scorpius turned to face the speaker, still caught inside the steel trap of his arms. All at once, a face he knew every detail of came into focus. Piercing green eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of black lashes, obscured by a mess of too-long hair, peered at him, almost crossed due to the two boys' proximity.

"Al?" said Scorpius. The choking whisper that came from his mouth was completely unintentional and more than a bit embarrassing. "What're you doing here?"

Ever so lightly, Albus leaned in to touch his forehead against Scorpius's. Scorpius could smell the mint gum he was chewing, and the scent set his nose tingling. "Your aunt let me up here. By the way, one of your peacocks got me while I was coming in the back."

The tip of his finger pointed out a small rip in the blue fabric of his t-shirt. Beneath the tattered hole, the smooth, unbroken skin summoned by a Healing Spell sat surrounded by rugged, lightly freckled flesh. Scorpius did not look down at it, his eyes trained on Albus's. "I told my parents."

"Whoa," said Albus, his eyes widening. "Did they take it alright?"

"And also my grandparents."

"Oh. I guess not, then. Are you okay, Sahm?"

"Better," said Scorpius with more force than he had been able to muster since the previous night's dinner. He pulled away from Albus and took his hands, much larger than Scorpius's own. Albus seemed to have skipped the awkward period of adolescence, as had his older brother James, going straight from innocent little boy to extremely attractive young adult. Every girl in their year at Hogwarts wanted to be Albus Potter's girlfriend. When they were unsuccessful, they generally wrote off their failure as a result of Albus's fondness the library and claimed that when he one day realized how much more interesting girls were, they would be first on his list. No one but Lily Potter knew the truth: Albus was head-over-heels for a Slytherin with an infamous last name, and Scorpius felt the same way. Coming out to the student body could have disastrous consequences, as his family reveal was starting to look like it would turn out with. He had found the piece of truth that would fix things, though, no matter how odd and unlikely it seemed the more he mulled it over.

"I think my dad was gay."

.

When the fire had gone black, the memory had not been over. It sat in the basin of the Penseive, spreading tendrils of jet through the silvery liquid. Within, the scene played, unconcerned that its audience had been distracted by a flesh-and-blood wizard.

"That didn't happen," said Draco, his voice oddly low in the lampblack room.

"But it did, Malfoy," answered Theo. He could hear a faint stirring across the room where Blaise and Draco had been seated in a pair of armchairs, but could see nothing in the dark. "You saw it with your own eyes."

"It _didn't _happen," snarled Draco. Theodore could feel Draco's hot breath on his cheek, but was more concerned with the fingers closing viselike around his neck. "Pansy doesn't remember a thing, and I saw nothing but your smarmy arse bare in the air. So don't. Say. Anything. More."

The sudden release of his windpipe sent air whooshing into Theodore's lungs, burning his throat and setting his eyes watering, the column of his throat throbbing. The Draco pounding up towards the boy's dormitory was not the same boy Theodore had befriended when they were eleven. Blaise had been right; Theodore had no idea what the repair of the Vanishing Cabinet would do to their lives.

"I told you," said a voice dangerously close to his ear. "You're fucked."

**Just to clear something up, there are no cute nicknames for Scorpius, so Albus (I) put his initials together and added a vowel, resulting in 'Sahm.' Ta da.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay of this chapter.**

"What's your name, _garçon__ maigre__?_"

Maximilien Malfoy sat astride a split-log fence, clad in a brilliant emerald-backed waistcoat and charcoal trousers. The fence ran along a path in the verdant French countryside, separating two distinct properties, the private land of the Malfoys and the government property of the French town of Avon. A dozen kilometers away, a castle sat nestled in the hills, a leftover from the days of Bouvier Malfoi. Max had apparated – illegally – that morning from the castle to the secluded spot he'd been occupying for almost an hour. Lucius and his brand new female friend were stinking up the castle with their hormones and Permelia was too busy taking in the fresh air to do anything about it. Merlin only knew where Abraxas had gone off to, but Max had a suspicion it was somewhere similar to where he was. Or a wizarding club, where he could drink firewhiskey and tell stories about his days in the Wizarding Regiment of the British Army without anyone calling him an old twit.

The solace of the woods had been thick and uninterrupted until a brawny French boy had come along the lane. Behind him, a dappled mare pulled idly on its finely tooled leather lead, chewing dejectedly on a bit of grass.

"_Tu t'appelle comment?_ What is your name?"

Max could feel his eyes crinkle as a broad smirk stretched across his face. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Napoleon," said the boy without any hesitation. "After the emperor."

After looping the horse's lead over a low-hanging branch, Napoleon stepped closer to Max, his feet leaving deep tracks in the rich earth. Max jumped lightly down from the fence, then leaned back against the rough wood, his head tilted slightly to look into the larger boy's eyes.

"I'm Maximilien Malfoy. That castle up there belongs to me."

"Then this horse belongs to you." The mare stared at Max with heavily lidded eyes. "And I, too, am yours."

"We aren't slave owners. And if you work up in the castle, why are you all the way down here?"

"You might as well be," said Napoleon, quite obviously ignoring Max's question. A solemn cast fell over his face. With two thick fingers curled over the neck of his white undershirt – the only thing he wore apart from a pair of brown-checked trousers – he pulled the fabric down and to the right, almost to snapping point. Dark blue ink swirled over his shoulder, making an interlocking pattern that ranged from his collarbone to one pink nipple, spreading left and right beneath the white cotton.

The disgust Max felt at his family's marking was plain upon his face. "The Malfoys did that to you?"

"No," said Napoleon brightly. He replaced his shirt over the tattoo and his muscled chest, a grin cracking his grim facade. "That one I did to myself, and for quite a price. But your expression was worth it."

"Arseface," said Max incredulously. Then, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

.

"Your dad?" boomed Albus, nearly driving Scorpius into knocking his head against a hanging birdcage. Albus pushed the slight blonde boy to an arm's length away, his eyes wide. "You mean Draco bleeding Malfoy, right, or do you have another dad I wasn't made aware of? Merlin."

Scorpius remained silent, feeling Albus's fingers where they dug into his arms, waiting for the next question to come.

"With what bloke?"

"Benjamin Nott's father, Theodore."

"Thank the gods!"

Scorpius blinked, hard, not entirely sure what to make of that last comment. "Come again?"

"I thought for a tic you were going to say _my_ dad," said Albus, eyes closed in relief. "It suddenly occurred to me that James has the exact same color eyes as you do."

The brunt of his discovery and its implications hit Scorpius again. "That's..."

"Disgusting?" supplied Albus.

"Physically impossible, I was going to say," said Scorpius. "And also _very _disgusting."

"Unless my dad screwed your mom," said Albus, eyes snapping back open. "In which case..."

"Stop it, will you? James taking up the position of my half-brother is not a particularly appealing thought."

Albus ignored him, talking fast, his brilliant green eyes beginning to water from being opened so wide. "Or maybe he just shagged your aunt when your uncle was out of town. They were the same age, weren't they? And there's the blue eyes again. Oh, for the love of Merlin..."

As Albus began to rant about the possibilities of time travel, Scorpius did the only thing he could think of that would shut Albus up: he kissed him.

Albus's lips were warm against his, rough from spending his break outside. They were tensed at first, and still slightly opened from speaking, but soon melted. Scorpius could feel the muscles of his stomach as he pressed against his body, wanting to be closer, and placed his large hands on Scorpius's waist. The two rocked to and fro, neither wanting to be the first to break away.

"No more talking about our parent's sex lives?" said Scorpius, speaking into the junction of Albus's neck and shoulder. He smelled of grass.

"Not a word," replied Albus, his voice much huskier than normal. He cleared his throat. "But I can see why someone would want to date a Malfoy, because _Merlin _was that nice."

"Stop talking," said Scorpius, pressing his lips to Albus's jawline.

"Will do."

**Does anyone want to review?**


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